Shenanigans 2: Brian is Back!
by TopGear2k6
Summary: It's ten years after the events of the last Shenanigans, and a new Boss surfaces, swiping most of the talent in the league for his own team. Brian and the gang do battle against the Boss, but when he's revealed, can everybody hold it together?
1. The Peace is Broken

**April 3rd, 11:00 PM: After Opening Day 2015, Nightmare's Clubhouse**

Brian thrashed about and fell off the chair. He looked around. He must have fallen asleep in the clubhouse. Whew. What a bad dream. Dare I say, Nightmare? He checked his watch. It was 11:05. Stacy was probably waiting for him at home. He ran to his car, a classic 1996 Caprice. Simply looking at it made Brian remember those dark days, and that was precisely why he owned it - so he'd never forget.

**11:20 PM: Brian's Bronx home.**

Brian showered and put on clean clothes. He still smelled slightly of champagne, though. Hey, it was a big victory.

When he walked out of his bedroom, something was wrong. Stacy was sitting rather stiff in her chair looking with a deer-in-the-headlights expression at the TV.

He walked in, and seeing no reaction from her, looked at the TV.

"It is not known how the fire started at the Cathedral, but a minute before it started, Cliff Floyd was witnessed running into the burning building."

The front door slammed, jarring Stacy out of her trance. Brian was gone.

**11:25: The streets of the Bronx.**

The speedometer read 150 as the car lurched into the air from an incline. Brian could now see the tower of smoke emanating from the burning Cathedral. A roadblock of news vans was surrounding the stadium. Brian's Caprice screeched to a stop and he leaped over the hood of a van as sirens sounded in the background. He ran headlong into Gate C.

Smoke choked the air as Brian ran up the stairs to the top level, where the owner's boxes were. Every flight seemed like it was a mile high, especially with the thickening smoke.

Eventually Brian stumbled onto the top floor of the Cathedral. He searched through the wall of carbon and found Cliff Floyd in the owner's box. Floyd turned around.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"It was a gut feeling."

"He's back."

"Who?"

"The Boss."

"What? The Boss is dead. You know, the nuke? Kablooey?"

"No, this is a new guy. I have no clue who it is, but he means business."

"Well, what the hell are you doing here?"

"He called me, telling me he was going to set the stadium on fire. I thought I could have stopped him, but obviously, I couldn't."

"What are we going to do now?"

"Get out, I guess."

5 minutes later, Floyd and Brian staggered out of the building as firetrucks and choppers combatted the fires. When all was said and done, part of the right field grandstands had burned to the ground, and the entire structure suffered some sort of damage from the fire. Bad stuff.

**April 4th, 5:00 PM: Nightmare team office in Manhattan.**

"And we now understand that Bill Zoss, one of our colleagues from our New York studio, has a report for us. Bill?"

"Right here, Vince. Due to the massive fire in the Bronx last night, the New York Nightmare, who had played in the Cathedral, will be playing here at Eagles Stadium until repairs can be made. The stadium is extremely small, so the Nightmare might be falling on some tough times. Back to you."

The TV switched off.

"Damn it," Floyd mumbled to himself.

"Don't blame me. If the Goliaths were away this weekend you would have playing at David Field."

"I know you did everything in your power. My problem is with the circumstances."

"Really."

"Yes. Piazza, there's a new Boss."

"You're kidding me."

"Well, unless it was a prank call that just happened to come in before the Cathedral caught on fire..."

"----."

"My reaction exactly."

Piazza's cell phone rang. "The hell? Excuse me, I have to take this." Piazza ducked out of the office. Floyd's eyebrow raised as a long string of expletives suddenly rang out of the hallway. Piazza walked back into the office attempting to be dignified. Then he whipped out his cell phone again and shattered it against the wall.

"Somebody just bought the Goliaths."

"Why does that make you so mad?"

"Wait till you hear who bought'm."

**April 4th, 7:00 PM: Eagles Stadium, home of the Nightmare's AAA team, the Edison Eagles.**

_Nightmare vs. Philadelphia Bells_

David Wright stood up to the plate and faced the pitcher down. He had done this countless times before in the past, but this time felt different somehow. He put the bat down, readjusted his glove, and wiped at the gigantic brown stain down the front of his black and purple uniform. His 312th career stolen base. Strike one rocketed down. Wright couldn't help but glance at the scoreboard in left - no - right field. Eagles Stadium was so different from The Cathedral. In the Cathedral there were more than 150,000 screaming fans, so loud that you couldn't hear yourself think. But that was a good enviroment, well-suited for the fast-paced type of baseball the Nightmare played. The crowd kept the other team off-balance, and even intimidated umpires into calling in favor of the Nightmare lest they be booed like they never had been and never will be again.

But this was a high school stadium, with extra bleachers added on at the last moment, plus a lot of standing room to raise the capacity to a measly (and very quiet) 30,000. Wright was almost startled when he got up to bat and could actually hear his own thoughts. He whiffed clumsily at strike 2. Ball one floated by.

But ball 2 was right at his head, and thrown with no lack of velocity. Wright ducked as fast as he could The ball nicked the bill of his helmet, sending it flying off in two pieces. Wright staggered back to his feet and towards his dugout with wide eyes, now helmetless. The moment of fear turned to rage when he saw that the pitcher was laughing.

Brian was the first to leap out of the dugout, although his first thought was to restrain Wright from charging the mound. As he was running towards Wright, though, he felt his body fly out from under him and an arm across his throat. After a rough landing on his back, he glared up to see a catcher's mask looking back at him, before his teammates picked up the slack. Wright, having witnessed the clothesline, turned his attention from the pitcher to the jackass catcher. The two teams converged to the left of home plate, in front of the Nightmare's dugout. The first brawl of the season. Hooray.

**April 5th, 11:00 AM: New MLB's commissioner office in Metropolis.**

Piazza surveyed the sparkling city from his window. Built as a refugee camp during the war to house the countless thousands who had fled from the major cities, Metropolis, named after the famous city from DC Comics, was, of course, a massive metropolis in northern Delaware. To bring luster to the area, Piazza elected to place the New MLB's offices in this city, and it had jump-started redevelopment. It was also the home of the Metropolis Stars. Piazza turned from the window and sat down at his desk, face-to-face with Cliff Floyd.

"I'm not sure how to punish your team for what they did yesterday," Piazza opened.

"What's there to punish?" Floyd asked. "The guy beaned him, Brian came out to prevent retaliation, and ended up having his head taken off by the catcher. As far as I'm concerned, it's all on Philadelphia."

Piazza looked down at the Mets logo on his planner. How far away those days seemed...

"Listen. Floyd, I know. But the rest of the fans of the NMLB are clamoring for punishment. Therefore, as Commissioner, I have to levy a $500,000 fine on the organisation and suspend Wright for 3 days. Now, we need go on to more... Important business."

"The Goliaths?"

"Yes. Their new owner wants to implement franchise changes immediately."

"Really now? What kind of changes?"

"Major changes."

**April 5th, 6:00 PM: Eagles Stadium.**

_Nightmare vs. Philadelphia Bells_

The finale to a dramatic series which saw a 21 inning game in the season opener, followed by the Cathedral half-burning down, and then yesterday's brawl. This series was living up to the billing. The players and fans did not know it yet, but a bombshell announcement was to be made. The Nightmare were a nightmare (pun intended) for the Bells, riding on them for 15 runs and 26 hits in the first 7 innings, while Wright sat in the clubhouse fuming.

After the last Bell of the 7th inning was struck out, the teams walked out of the dugout, assuming that "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" would be sung. Instead, the temporary Jumbotron installed in left-center field flashed "IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT".

"This is Kory Bowman for ESPN, reporting that New York Goliaths team owner Lyman Strang has sold the team to an unknown bidder, for an amount approaching half a billion dollars. The new owner, who refuses to reveal himself, has already announced that the name of the team will be changed to the New York Liberators, and the team colors will be changed to red and blue... In addition, the team will be completely revamped. New roster and coaching staff. Piazza, the commissioner of the MLB, has declined to comment. More details later."

The Jumbotron blinked off, and Brian glanced at Steve, the Nightmare's manager. Good gravy.

**April 6th, 12 noon: Eagles Stadium.**

The team prepared to board the bus that would take them on the hour-long trip to Gotham City, Atlantic City's twin sister. The bus had to be reinforced and fitted with bulletproof glass, as Gotham wasn't exactly the town one would build a vacation home in. Brian smiled inward at the coincidence - he sat down in the same approximate seat as he had when he and the Elite stormed the streets of New York against the forces of the Organisation. His cell phone buzzed. It was Stacy.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"ESPN is on. The new owner of the Liberators is VERY interested in you."

"So? I have a no-trade clause, and Floyd wouldn't even think of dealing me anyway."

"I dunno, Brian. The guy's been very persuasive so far, and has landed other marquee players in the league."

George Steinbrenner's tactics flew through Brian's head. But none of them were free agents...

"How's he doing it?"

"They don't know. For some reason the players' teams released them and then the Liberators picked them up for big bucks."

"I'll ask Floyd about it."

Click. Wright popped out from the seat behind him.

"Problems?"

"Some shady dealing is going on with the Liberators. According to ESPN and Stacy, teams have been inexplicably releasing their star players, and the Liberators rush in with the checkbook."

Wright raised an eyebrow. "No ----. I think we're safe, though. The city would burn down if we left the team."

Brian nodded. After all, 80 percent of the New York metropolitan area was a Nightmare fan.

"I promised her I'd talk to Floyd, though. I guess I'll handle that after the game."

**7 PM: Gotham City Palace.**

Brian sat in the dugout and checked the news section of the scoreboard. Another marquee player mysteriously released from their team and signed by the Liberators. Now he was getting a little unnerved. He would have to talk to Floyd later, not only to assuage Stacy's worries, but his own as well.

**New MLB's commissioner's office.**

Floyd was fuming. "Why can't you do anything to stop this?"

Piazza could only shrug in frustration. "If it were merely trades I could block them, but you can't stop teams from releasing players. The Player's Union would throw a fit too, because these guys are single-handedly driving up the average salary for players. Any more of this and pretty soon prices around the league are going to shoot up."

"But why are the teams releasing the players? Why don't the managements keep them?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Do we even know the identity of the new owner?"

"We do know that he calls himself the Boss, but threatened to start another war if that information got out."

"So we're sitting on our hands here."

"Exactly."

"Where's the fundage coming from?"

"Hell if I know. Although, there have been a lot of wars popping up in underdeveloped nations recently… No…"

"Piazza, we need to consider all possibilities."

"True. But I don't even think somebody like this guy would do something so wretched."

"What did I just say?"

**April 7th, 4:00 PM: Gotham City Palace.**

Back home, the entirety of New York City was atwitter. Wright was coming off his suspension, the repairs to The Cathedral were completed enough so that the stadium was usable again, and Brian was pitching. He had registered 21 Ks in his last start, just one shy of his career high, so it was hoped that the Big Mo would keep rolling into this game. Brian strolled out to the mound amidst a hail of beer cups and boos. Rookies were unnerved by Gotham's harsh atmosphere, but Brian was a wily veteran already, even at only 27 years old. It was odd, Brian thought, that such a blue-collar atmosphere accompanied such a ritzy stadium. The Gotham Palace was an extravagant venture, located just north of Gotham's dreaded "South Side", and was adorned with much neon, with a gigantic casino building serving as the hitter's eye, a Ferris Wheel in left field, and a retractable roof that, when closed, gave the stadium the feeling of being inside a Vegas casino. It was obvious that the "haves" owned this team.

Brian stared down the Knights' leadoff hitter, their star shortstop. The name was a little familiar to Brian – Jose Reyes. In 2010, Reyes had become the first player to win a Silver Slugger based on his speed instead of his power, batting .399 with 25 triples and 146 stolen bases, the most since Hugh Nicol in the quirky 1880s era of baseball. As Brian set, Reyes winked at him and he had to step off while chuckling. In the years after the War. Reyes and Brian met via Wright and became fast friends.

Brian toed the rubber again and returned Jose's wink. The stretch, and the pitch. Comparing the tape of Brian pitching in 2005 and now, there was no comparison. The Brian of old pitched straight over-arm and couldn't top 80 mph, and relied on his off-speed pitching. Today's Brian threw sidearm with heavy velocity (hitting 100 mph at times), a 96 mph slider with plenty of break to spare, and pulled the string with deadly results.

Reyes lasered the ball perfectly down the right field line, landing on the chalk and rolling into the corner, allowing Reyes to chug the bases and slide into 3rd without a throw. Such was the style of Reyes's play. Rain was beginning to fall and play was suspended for about 10 minutes as the roof was closed. Time for the casino atmosphere, Brian thought.

Sure enough, after an inning, the air was cloudy with the smoke of cigarettes and cigars. There were smoking regulations in Gotham, but nobody bothered to enforce them. Wright, the cleanup batter, stepped to the plate amid boos and flashing from various rowdy fans. A beer bottle barely missed Wright's head, and security lazily went to secure the man, but after being slipped a twenty, they walked off as if nothing happened. Wright stepped into the box, and the pitcher got ready. Pitch one was a strike, and the umps had to call time as a porn star ran onto the field naked holding an advertisement for a website over her head. Brian ran his hand over his face. He hated playing here.

Wright, apparently sharing this sentiment, shook his head as he stepped back in and tapped his bat on home plate. The Knights pitcher fired another one, and from the look of anguish on his face, he regretted that pitch immediately. David swung mightily and did not miss, rocketing the ball to deep left center, and shattering a gigantic neon Knights logo, raining sparks and broken glass down onto the picnic area. He trotted around the bases, smiling broadly even as garbage rained down on the field. His third home run of the year.

The Nightmare won when the game was called in the 8th inning due to a gang fight outside the stadium.

**April 8th, 3:00 PM: New MLB commissioner's office.**

Floyd shook his head and chuckled at the report of the Nightmare game.

"Man, Piazza, why'd you ever let that city have a team?"

Piazza grinned both with guilt and concession of the point. "Well, they're devoted."

"So, did you dig anything up?"

"Only that the GMs across the league never remember actually releasing their players."

"Really?"

"Really."

**April 9th, 7:00 AM: Brian's home.**

Brian woke with a start. Another bad dream. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and went to hug Stacy. But she wasn't there. A panicked run around the house revealed no Stacy. He staggered back to his bedroom in a daze and discovered a note on his pillow.

"Good morning, Brian. Did your bed seem a little empty today? Don't worry. She's in VERY good hands. Sincerely, the Boss."

The police were summoned immediately, but found no fingerprints. Brian called Wright.

"She disappeared? Just like that?"

"That she did, Dave…"

"God damn."

"I know. Do you think we should let Floyd know about this?"

"I don't see any reason why not. Listen, you need to sort things out over there. I'll call Floyd and give him the story."

Click. Dial. Phone ringing.

"Yeah?" Floyd's voice asked.

"Cliff, it's Wright. Big stuff went down today at Brian house."

"Did he get laid?"

"Cliff, this is serious. Stacy was kidnapped."

"By who?"

"By the Boss."

**April 10th, 4:00 PM: The Cathedral.**

News of Stacy's disappearance had gotten out all over the nation, and a federal investigation was launched. From all over Brian received cards of pity and moral reinforcement as it seemed just about everybody got their ass out of a couch and went around with a flashlight looking for Stacy. Before the game, a chant of "Brian" emerged from the full house of 100,000 people (sections of the Cathedral were still unusable), as if to personally give him strength. The game this day was a classic, a 1-0 pitcher's duel against the Washington Grays, won by Wright with a walk-off shot to the Clock Tower's porch.

**April 11th, 12 noon: New MLB commissioner's office.**

Piazza sighed heavily. Another day, another star player moved to the Liberators. This was happening way too fast, and the fans of the other teams in the NMLB weren't too happy about all these marquee players migrating to a single team. But it had an unexpected side effect.

"So, Piazza, I want to sign Davis out of high school."

"Why do you want Davis?"

"A top prospect shortstop? I could use somebody like that on my team."

"But Davis would be better than your current shortstop."

"Exactly. A new shortstop for my team."

"Interesting. There's a rule against this, but it's so obscure and would offend so many people that I won't bother to enforce it. Congratulations, Floyd, you officially have the first female player in Major League history: Meryl Davis."


	2. The Debut of Meryl

**April 11th, 4:00 PM: The Cathedral.**

The Nightmare's notorious 4-man starting pitching rotation dictated that Brian would pitch today. For today, the signing of Meryl Davis overshadowed Brian's own problems with the disappearance of Stacy. Some people howled over this supposed mismanagement of priorities, but Brian welcomed the shifting of the limelight. The police had made no progress in their investigation, and were reluctantly coming to the conclusion that the worst may have happened. Never had a person so completely and totally dropped off the face of the earth. There was no evidence of a struggle in the house, nor was there any unusual forensic evidence whatsoever. Police were stumped.

Brian had been sleeping very poorly since her disappearance, and had trouble concentrating on the signs from his catcher. More than once he threw the wrong pitch and almost had a wild ball. Sulking into the dugout in the 6th inning with a loss pending on the books, Brian asked Steve if they had any news. Steve shook his head sadly.

**April 12th, 11:00 AM: Nightmare clubhouse.**

Today was a special day in New York. Not only was it the debut of baseball's first ever female player, but both the Nightmare and Liberators were at home, and when that happened, the two clubs had special "throwback" days, special promotions where the Nightmare wore Yankees jerseys and the Liberators wore Mets jerseys. Brian slipped on the pinstripes and smirked. He used to dread these stripes, but now he couldn't wait for throwback days so he could honor the spirit of the legendary franchise that died 10 years ago.

Brian sat back in a chair and turned on the TV, only to be met with red-faced sportscasters and much blustering.

"This is a disgrace to the tradition of baseball in New York, and the owner of the team should be hung for it!"

Brian jumped out of his seat, thinking that maybe the man was talking about Meryl's signing. But after listening a couple of more minutes, Brian gleaned what the big disgrace was: The Liberators were refusing to wear the Mets uniforms.

"Alright, alright, sir, we get your point, you can calm down now."

"No! I will not calm down!"

"Sir, we'll have to cut your mike. Alright, now that we're down with that distraction, we move to the other side of town, the Bronx, where Meryl Davis, the first woman major leaguer, will be making her debut at the ripe ol' age of 19 years old, and feminists around the world rejoice."

**3:00 PM: The Cathedral.**

The anticipation rode high and the camera bulbs flashed as Meryl took her position on the field. Boos came from one of the bleacher areas in the outfield, which was typically the stomping grounds of the redneck population. The first pitch was thrown, and lasered right to Meryl. A trial by fire. But her expression never changed and she didn't run away from the ball like the girls in gym class, like certain sports analysts had predicted. She put her glove up and snagged the ball right out of the air with a loud SMACK from the glove. Many people were stunned. Steve and Brian were not. Her supposed defensive prowess was the very reason she was signed to the team in the first place, and she proved to be a far-above-average glove in fielding practice. Her bat, however, is a different story. Or would it be? Her ascension to the majors was so fast that she never had the opportunity to take BP, and offensive stats were not kept in the backwater league she played in before.

So, her glove was tested. But what about her arm? In the 5th inning, with the bases loaded and no outs, Meryl's abilities were fully tested. Snagging a hard-hit ball off the bounce, she rocketed the ball to the catcher to register the first out. The catcher threw to second, as the runner going there was a stereotypical corpulent slugger, and Meryl popped up again to rocket the ball again to first to record the third out. A triple play, and Meryl was the centerpiece. But she wasn't done yet.

Faced with the team's leadoff hitter in a crucial situation with two outs, the ball was hit to her. The ball almost got by, and she grabbed it as it was behind her. She then had to turn 180 degrees for the throw. As the opposing manager said after the game, "She didn't throw the ball. She teleported it to the first baseman's glove."

We've now established Meryl's defensive capabilities. But take a step back to the 2nd inning, when she came up in her 9-slot for her first career at-bat. She didn't waste any time. First pitch swinging, it went high, far, and deep, but ricocheted off the left-center wall as she motored around the bases for a triple, executing a Pete Rose headfirst slide into third, which turned out to be unnecessary, as the fielder was only throwing the ball as she approached 3rd. Her second at-bat would turn to be more productive. With runners on 2nd and 3rd, she delivered a space shot off a 2-1 pitch that landed inches into the third deck. After this, Brian and Steve looked towards each other and nodded approvingly.

She kept the same poker face throughout the entire game, allowing only a hint of a smile when Brian congratulated her on her home run after. Wright sat down next to her in a mock huff, as he hadn't hit a home run in that game.

"Man, I only had two singles and a double. You got the triple and home run."

Meryl kept her face on. Brian shook his head. "Man, Wright. That's so bad. You only went 3 for 4? I could have done better!"

"I'm sure you could, what with your leg brace and not having batted once in your career and everything."

"Eh, my job is keep runners off the bases, not get on myself. Anyway, I'm hungry. Wanna get something to eat, Dave?"

"Do I! I'm famished! I know this little Italian place down by my house. It's got the meanest meatball parmesan ever."

At that moment, both David and Brian glanced down at Meryl, who was still sitting with her game face on, yet seemed somewhat expectant of something. Brian broke the ice. "Uh, you wanna come, Meryl?"

She looked up and broke her poker face for the first time, flashing an award-winning smile. "I thought you misogynists would never ask!"

**8:00 PM: Frank's Pizza.**

"So, she just disappeared?" Meryl asked.

"Yeah," came Brian's slightly despondent reply.

"That's rough."

"Sigh. Well, you deal with ---- as it happens."

Having stated that, Brian took a giant _glomp_ out of his meatball sandwich. Wright continued the conversation.

"So, where exactly did you learn that, Meryl? We knew that you had a good glove, as we saw you in pre-game practice, but where did you learn to swing that lumber? No offense, but I didn't think your frame could generate that kind of power."

Meryl looked down at her food. "My dad was an up-and-coming player for the Binghamton Mets in the 1980's. They expected him to be the next Ted Williams, or Babe Ruth. He was untouchable. But a freak accident cut his career short. I was his only child, so in desperation he tried to teach me the game of baseball. I was a tomboy, so naturally I was suited for sports. I picked up on the game pretty quickly, but my dad had to threaten every league I tried to enter with legal action before I could actually play. It was a bother."

"And so..." Wright prodded.

"And so eventually I played for the high school team, but everybody told me that I couldn't play in the majors because of some idiotic rule about banning women in uniform or something. Luckily for me, Piazza's something of a visionary, and Floyd was willing to sign me."

"Any other teams contact you?"

"Yeah, the Liberators, mostly. But I grew up a Mets and Nightmare fan, as my dad had played for their farm organization, and… Well…"

Wright grinned, expecting something semi-embarrassing to come out.

"I kind of had a crush on Brian when I was growing up."

Wright nearly spit his soda all over the old lady next to him. "BRIAN! Holy Christ! You had a crush on a short fat guy who threw junk?"

Meryl grinned guiltily. They both looked at Brian, who was lost in thought and apparently wasn't following the conversation. "Meryl, you said that your dad played for the Binghamton Mets in the 1980's, right?"

"Uh, well, yeah."

"Mine did, too. What was his name?"

"Jack Davis."

Brian leapt up from his chair. "Jack Davis!" He turned to Wright. "That was the guy who was with my dad when he got shot in the knees, and got threatened by the shooter as he fled! My dad and him were supposed to be the Bash Brothers 2.0, but they both suffered career-ending injuries."

Wright sat back and marveled at the coincidence. "So, their kids meet, eh?"

Meryl was merely confused. "This matters how?"

Brian sat down, red-faced from his outburst. "Just found it funny." He sipped his drink and laughed nervously.

**April 14th, 10:00 AM: Brian's house.**

Brian awoke with a start. He desperately searched Stacy's side of the bed, hoping against hope that she was there, that her whole disappearance was just a dream. She was still gone.

**10:00 AM: Piazza's office.**

Piazza watched the news report, sat back, and shook his head sadly. "You know, you've just got to feel for Brian's situation right now. He – well, us – had an eventful life, and he finally settles down and marries the love of his life, only to have her drop off the face of the planet."

Floyd nodded empathetically. "Yeah. Man, when I get my hands on that new Boss… He isn't going to be able to sit down again – EVER." He pounded his first into his hand for emphasis.

"Now, now, Floyd. It wouldn't look very good if one team owner beat up another, right? Anyway, the news report doesn't have anything that the police report I just got doesn't. They are really stymied."

"This could be the next Lindbergh-type kidnapping. I just hope it gets resolved somehow, so either way Brian can have some closure."

**7:00 PM: At Philadelphia.**

Brian finished his warm-up tosses and walked back into the dugout for the start of the game. Meryl had proved to be a prototypical leadoff hitter, and so she batted in the #1 spot today. Most analysts had agreed that such a quick rise had not been seen since the days before the farm system. Today's game had Brian a little worried, however. In keeping with their reputation as a thug team, the Bells had been particularly outspoken about a female player. As one of their pitchers put it, "no ----- deserves to be playing our game." That particular pitcher happened to be today's starter. Meryl swung the bat a couple of times, then took the weight off and sauntered into the batter's box. Boos rained down from all corners of Grover Cleveland Alexander Stadium, a bare concrete structure that did no justice to the Hall of Famer for which it was named. TV analysts had to constantly remind audiences at home that the rowdy drunk fans that populated this stadium for Bells and Eagles games were not representative of the people of Philadelphia. Even so, they were not as bad as Gotham's fans. Shudder.

Meryl settled into her distinctive stance, a half-crouch with her front foot extended to the side of the batter's box on the far side of home plate. The pitcher scowled deeply, wound up with a kick, and delivered a blazing fastball. It hit its mark with a loud crack and thwonk: Meryl's helmet. She recoiled, spun, and collapsed to the ground, crawling towards the dugout using her arms. The stadium roared with delight. Brian, Steve, and Wright ran out to her side.

"Meryl, are you ok?"

"(mumble mumble) Grrr, LET ME AT THAT -------!" Meryl screamed, and attempted to charge the mound. She was held back by Wright and Steve.

"Stand down, Meryl. I'll handle them next inning."

Wright snorted. "Hah! ---- that! I'LL handle them THIS inning!"

True to his word, Wright came up after the #2 and #3 hitters smacked base hits to load the bases. He took the first two pitches for strikes. Wright narrowed his eyes at the pitcher and guessed a location. The pitch came hard and fast, and Wright was right on top of it, delivering it via express mail to a fan in the upper deck. The boos rained down hard and fast.

Next, it was Brian's turn to avenge Meryl. The first batter for the Bells was up. He too had been making a lot of "very nice" comments about Meryl. Brian smirked, wound up, and delivered a taste of his own medicine. The player flew backwards as if he had been shot and convulsed on the ground. The ump warned both benches, then called for the medic as the player continued convulsing on the ground. Brian received the return throw from the catcher and grinned at Meryl, who returned it.

In the 3rd inning, Meryl came up to bat again, and received a beanball to the ass. The ump immediately tossed the pitcher out, who argued the call vociferously. Brian, Steve, and Wright all jumped out of the dugout mouthing off at the pitcher. Steve waved off Brian and David, but they only backed off, they didn't return. They wanted to hear Steve's words. But Steve barely got a word off before the catcher threw the ball straight at his head. While the umps were preoccupied with keeping Steve and the pitcher apart, Brian ran in and flying-tackled the catcher to the ground. He sprang up quickly as if nothing happened and walked off. The catcher, none too happy, followed Brian, and grabbed him by the shoulder, whipping him around. They got into a nice little discussion, and the catcher shoved Brian off, resulting in Wright stepping in. The umps, having not seen the tackle, immediately ejected the catcher, which caused the Bells skipper to run out with his own concerns. Brian sauntered into the dugout.

Before the fracas was cleared up, the entire Bells coaching staff had been ejected except for the bullpen coach. As such, the Bells suffered from horrible mismanagement the whole game and ended up on the losing side.

**April 15th, 1:00 PM: Brian's parents' home.**

It was close to Easter, and Brian was helping his parents set up the house for the annual family Easter party. His nieces and nephews, still not quite over the fact that their uncle was a famous pitcher, kept asking him to play catch with them. Brian was still stinging from Stacy's disappearance, but he had to put up some semblance of happiness. The festivities would not last long. Brian's cell rang. It was Wright.

"Brian, man, I'm sorry…"

"What's the matter, Dave? Don't hold out on me now…"

"They've closed the investigation on Stacy. They just can't make any progress."

Brian fell into a chair. "Thanks, man…"

"Brian…"

"I'll deal with it somehow…"

Brian ran his hands through his hair. Somehow, the tears just wouldn't flow. In fact, a deep, dark side of him was glad that Stacy was gone…


End file.
